18.10pm, Kentish Town
SAM: I want my bootster
ME: Your what?
SAM: My bootster! My boomser!
ME: Your boomser? What are you on about? I’ve got no idea what you want.
SAM: *desperately* MY BOOOOOSTNER! MY BOOTSER! MY BOOOOOONSTER!
ME: Kitty have you got any idea what he’s on about?
SAM: It’s my sing, which has duh… sing, which goes… roun’ and roun’ and… it’s duh… singy…
ME: Seriously Sam I’ve had enough of this, I don’t know what you’re talking about.
SAM: Hang on maybe s’in my room. *thud thud thud thud thud…. thud thud thud thud* HEWE tis!!! I got iiit MUMMAY!
ME: Oh your Vroomster!
SAM: Yeah my VROOMSTER. Can I take it inna barf?
ME: No it’s got batteries it will break
It reminds me of the time Sam spent five minutes trying to tell me that the new guinea pig at nursery was called “FUDS” (fudge). Poor little boy, can barely make himself understood. No wonder he’s so pissed off all the time.